"Of course. Old Sárvölgyi, as it is, had made sour faces enough at the unusual invasion of guests: and he has a cursedly sullen housekeeper. Besides it is disagreeable always to have to say nice things to the two ladies: that's not why a fellow comes to the country. A propos, I hear you have a beautiful gypsy girl here."
"You know that too, already?"
"I hope you are not jealous of her?"
"What, the devil! of a gypsy girl?"
("Well just try it with her," thought Lorand, "at any rate you will get 'per procura,' that box on the ears which I cannot give you.")
"Ha, ha! we shall not fight a duel for a gypsy girl, shall we, my boy?"
"Nor for any other girl."
"You have become a wise man like me: I like that. A woman is only a woman. Among others, what do you say to Madame Bálnokházy? I find she is still more beautiful than her daughter. Ma foi, on my word of honor! Those ten years on the stage have only done her good. I believe she is still in love with you."
"That's quite natural," said Lorand in jesting scorn.
In the meantime they had reached the park; they found Topándy and Czipra by the bridge. Lorand introduced Pepi Gyáli as his old school-fellow.